


the toughest thing in any relationship (is picking out the furniture)

by Granspn



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: M/M, and gfa references, intricate rituals involving pretending to be fred astaire and ginger rogers, margaret and hawkeye knitting together :), starts as a tag for peace on us, then there are other scenes at various times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:21:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27287095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Granspn/pseuds/Granspn
Summary: after the peace on us party, hawkeye and bj fantasize about their dream office, people have crises and realizations, you know the drill“Hawkeye’s forehead was begging to be kissed. This hadn’t been one of those times when BJ was worried he was going to lose Hawkeye forever; he didn’t really think he was going to get killed at the peace talks, and with Potter and Margaret defending him he wasn’t all that likely to end up in the stockade either. It was just one of those stunts that made BJ wonder who the hell he was actually dealing with here.”
Relationships: B. J. Hunnicutt/Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce, B. J. Hunnicutt/Peg Hunnicutt (referenced)
Comments: 19
Kudos: 75





	the toughest thing in any relationship (is picking out the furniture)

Red wasn’t even Hawkeye’s favorite color. Not until the party, anyway. When it had mostly cleared out, BJ was sitting on a mess tent bench with his back to the table. Hawkeye couldn’t remember the moments that led to it, but somehow he was lying across the length of the bench with his head in BJ’s lap, with BJ’s miraculous fingers in his hair collecting red stains from the cheap dye job they’d forced upon him a few hours before. It was peaceful, and quiet now, and Hawkeye felt warm in a way he couldn’t remember feeling in a long time. It was everything he could do not to reach up and pull BJ toward him and kiss him until he forgot he was supposed to be married.

The only others left were Klinger and Kellye, dancing a slow waltz in the corner, and Goldman and Igor asleep against the serving table, so nobody was paying the surgeons any mind. Hawkeye fidgeted with the tie of his surgical gown, which was lying on the floor beside him since BJ had finally stripped him out of it, saying blood red went against the dress code.

“Tzitzit,” Hawkeye muttered, more to himself than anything.

“Hm?” BJ said.

“Tzitzit,” Hawkeye repeated. “They’re these, um, they’re what you get on a tallis, that’s like, this Jewish… kind of, shawl, thing that you wear, I mean, you’re a doctor, you must’ve been to at least one Jewish wedding–”

“Sure, Hawk, I know.”

“Yeah, well, it’s the name for the little braided fringe you get along the bottom. The only reason they’re there is so the kids have something to play with while you’re in shul.”

BJ looked down to his fingers fidgeting with Hawkeye’s coarse hair.

“Really?”

“Yeah. That’s what Mom told me anyway.”

“That’s a nice idea. Thoughtful.”

“Oh, yeah, well, we think of everything.”

Hawkeye’s forehead was begging to be kissed. This hadn’t been one of those times when BJ was worried he was going to lose Hawkeye forever; he didn’t really think he was going to get _killed_ at the peace talks, and with Potter and Margaret defending him he wasn’t all that likely to end up in the stockade either. It was just one of those stunts that made BJ wonder who the hell he was actually dealing with here. He knew it was Don Fucking Quixote, Charles had said as much in O.R., and he agreed. He just didn’t know how he’d managed to live nearly thirty years without Hawkeye when now his entire world seemed to revolve around the lunatic. He hadn’t thought it was possible to care about a person that much. It drove him absolutely crazy.

Most days he forced himself to put it out of his mind, the fact that when he dreamt his brain more often than not seemed to conflate Hawkeye and Peg, and that he knew he wrote about him in every single letter home to a degree which if he were a nurse would definitely have been worrying. He cared for Hawkeye inconsolably, incurably, unquantifiably, but most days he felt like he could only show it when Hawkeye wasn’t around. Most days.

“Once we have an office, we can paint everything this color,” was all BJ said. Hawkeye stopped fidgeting. 

“We?” How did BJ know decorating an office was his favorite fantasy?

“Sure!” BJ said in a way that let Hawkeye know he was joking.

“Sure.” Hawkeye closed his eyes. It was pitch dark outside, the hours of night that you aren’t supposed to know exist. The ones you’re supposed to sleep through, but since when did Hawkeye sleep? “What are we gonna put in there?”

“Let’s start with some desks,” BJ said. Hawkeye said a silent prayer of thanks to a God he felt sure wasn’t listening that BJ was still playing with his hair.

“Perfect. Bet you can’t guess what kind of wood this is,” Hawkeye said in reference to his imaginary desk.

“Um, maple?” BJ hazarded.

“Nope, it’s oak,” Hawkeye said quietly.

“O-kay,” BJ said, talking like he was tiptoeing around a landmine. “So’s mine.”

“Good,” Hawkeye breathed. He relaxed back against BJ’s lap.

“What else, what else,” BJ mused, drumming his fingers against Hawkeye’s scalp. Hawkeye tried not to find it intoxicating. “Pictures!” BJ said. “Got one of you and your dad?”

“Sure,” Hawkeye said, digging back in his memory. “Dad came to visit me once in Boston, right after we got the new place. Carlye took a nice one of us outside Toya’s Diner. I’ll have that in a silver frame, please. Thirty-nine regular, loose in the seat.”

“Perfect.” Hawkeye could hear BJ’s smile. “I’ll have Peg and Erin, front and center.” _Of course you will_ , Hawkeye thought, jealous without being angry. It hurt, but it wasn’t a sharp pain, the kind that would make him want to steal BJ away from his life and have him all for himself; it was more like a dull ache, the constant reminder that for better or for worse BJ simply wasn’t for him.

“I want a bookcase,” Hawkeye said quickly. “Two. All the way up to the ceiling. One for medical stuff, and one for regular books.”

“I’ll have a phrenology bust on the shelf behind me. And a skull.”

“Alas, poor Yorick. What’s behind me?”

“The window,” BJ said with a contented sigh. “God, that view. Every day we look out over the Golden Gate Bridge.”

“And the Empire State Building,” Hawkeye added.

“Right,” BJ said. And there it was, the paradox. BJ blamed manifest destiny for the fact that he and Hawkeye lived so far from each other, for the fact that California had ever been established in the first place. In fact, he blamed it for the fact of there being a war in Korea to defend the American way of life from the Russians. In fact, after careful consideration, BJ had determined that most of the problems facing the world today could actually be traced back to 1680 when the Pierces settled in Maine. He tried not to resent Hawkeye for ruining his life, which was easy enough since he happened to be the best person he’d ever met. He supposed every relationship had its tradeoffs.

“We’ll keep the radio tuned to the jazz programs on 88.3,” Hawkeye said, seemingly oblivious to the fact that their office was currently in New Francisco or San York or Uijeong-fucking-bu.

“And hear it live at the Music Box every weekend.”

Hawkeye wasn’t oblivious. He was on fire. He simply didn’t know why BJ found it necessary to torture him by dangling everything he wanted just out of his grasp. Just because BJ had it bad being Odysseus away from his Penelope didn’t mean Hawkeye had to be Tantalus in the pit, except it did. Because it was better to get the glimpse of the future he wanted, of happiness, and peace, and love, and whatever other cheesy shit you want to ascribe to it than never to see it at all, even if it was snatched away at the last second. It was like Sisyphus and the boulder; it gave him something to do.

“Come on, Beej. I gotta take a shower. Scrub away the Red Menace.”

“It’s a wash, anyway.” 

Hawkeye supposed he was also partly to blame. There was no real reason to invite BJ to the showers with him except to stand eighteen inches apart, fully naked, and not acknowledge it whatsoever. Besides, he could never quite figure out exactly how much BJ knew. That was his own fault, too, for couching his every feeling in a shroud of jokes, as he was wont to do, but he also found BJ particularly and infuriatingly inscrutable. 

Hawkeye felt BJ looking at him. And sometimes when he felt BJ looking at him he thought that he _must_ know, since he wasn’t stupid, and he recognized that look. He recognized that look, and BJ wasn’t even trying not to look at him like that despite the fact that a forty-five degree shift in the angle of his gaze could change the whole ball game. So to speak.

Hawkeye felt BJ looking at him, and he looked back, daring BJ to say something. The party was quite possibly the most touching and heartfelt thing anyone had ever done for him. And shit like that came naturally to BJ. It was second nature for him to be the kindest person in the world, and Hawkeye was ruining everything for himself by dwelling on the impossible, the unknowable. BJ was complicated, and Hawkeye always said he loved complicated, which was a lie, but he didn’t seem to be able to avoid it. And if the people he loved were going to be complicated then maybe he was going to learn to love it.

Trapper had been simple. Well, not simple, exactly, but goddamn navigable, unlike BJ, who was kind of like trying to walk through a Korean minefield with a map of Berlin. Trapper had been the get-drunk-fool-around-pretend-like-it-never-happened type. You know, simple. What made things even more complicated was that Hawkeye knew BJ hated it when he brought him up. The narcissistic part of his brain told him it was because he was jealous, jealous of the fact that Trap got to be with Hawkeye, and for so long. That for so many people “and Hunnicutt” was still just a substitute for “and McIntyre.” But the rational part of his brain told him it was because he was jealous that Trapper was home with his wife and daughters. Even so.

“I was decorating the Swamp when Trapper found me.” _Found you?_ BJ thought.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Said he loved what I’d done with the place. That my skills could rival his wife’s.”

Of course. So nearly the first thing Trapper John McIntyre ever said to Hawkeye was that he was wife material. Which was also nearly the first thing Hawk had ever said to BJ, through a cloud of panic and heartbreak in the Officers’ Club at Kimpo. _Somebody’s gonna have to get me pregnant first_. Right. And so _Hawkeye, why Hawkeye?_ became the most important thing for BJ ever to know.

“I’m sure she doesn’t have your hands,” BJ said. Surgeon’s hands, nothing more.

“Oh, sure,” Hawkeye said, eyes closed to a barrage of lukewarm water. “Nobody’s wife’s got my hands.”

_Who are you, who are you, who are you?_

“They good for anything besides painting and decorating?” BJ said. Hawkeye smirked, and only took some of the bait. Never enough to reel him in, but enough to make BJ keep his rod in the water.

“I make a mean French toast,” he said. “And I wash a mean dish, afterwards.”

“Wife material,” BJ mused. Peg always cooked and did the dishes. She and Hawkeye were in no way interchangeable, but there was no denying that Hawkeye made a convincing argument for how he’d slot himself into BJ’s life. Not that he needed convincing.

“You know it.”

“Hang on, are you proposing to me?” BJ said in mock surprise.

“You want me to get on my knees?”

“I think that’s ‘get down on one knee.’”

“Whatever you say,” Hawkeye said with about as much smarminess as he could manage after such a long day. He shut the water off, and dried slowly, leaving room for BJ to stare if he wanted. This was one of those times when he wondered. He wondered if BJ knew that _whatever you say_ obviously meant _you idiot, I would blow you right now if I didn’t think cheating on your wife again would drive you to suicide_. He didn’t know how he couldn’t know and he didn’t know how he could.

BJ gave his hair one last rinse and willed the water to be colder, then willed himself not to be willing that, since there was no reason for that to be on his mind. Except for the way Hawkeye talked, all the time, but that was just Hawkeye.

“Do we want plants?” BJ said, once they were in clean shirts and underwear back in the Swamp.

“In our office?” Hawkeye said as he gave himself a once-over in the mirror, examining his hairline for traces of red.

“Sure, in the office, in the apartment, wherever.”

“Apartment?” Hawkeye repeated, sitting down on his cot and grabbing a magazine from his cubby. He opened it but didn’t look inside; it just made for a useful prop.

“I can’t picture you in a house. Not a big suburban one, anyway.”

“We have an apartment now?”

“Of course. We have to live somewhere, don’t we?”

“Sure, but together? Not separately, with our separate wives?”

“Oh, yeah? Why don’t you tell me about your wife, Hawk?” He said it like he was asking for a fantasy within the fantasy, like the time for softcore porn was right in the middle of describing imaginary office decor.

“No, no, that’s okay,” Hawkeye said quickly. He put the magazine down without flipping a page and lay back in bed. “Let’s get a cat.”

“And a dog,” BJ added, mirroring Hawkeye’s position in his own cot.

“Then you walk it.”

“No problem.”

Hawkeye sighed. “I want a view of the water. I know we have one in the office but the window’s behind me. We don’t have to be that close to the beach but I like to be able to see the ocean.”

“Works for me,” BJ said.

“You know, there’s really only one ocean,” Hawkeye said. “They give it different names, but all the water in the world is really connected. So Atlantic, Pacific, it’s all the same. You might think we’ve been staring at different oceans all our lives, but we haven’t. It’s always been the same one, just from different directions.” 

“Yeah, Hawk. I guess so.”

“Let’s be on a lower floor, too. I hate elevators.”

“No problem,” BJ said again. “A walk-up it is.”

“With a goofy welcome mat. And a charming yet subtle mezuzah.”

“Of course. Wouldn’t want a garish mezuzah.”

“Tell me about it. You should see my Aunt Sarah’s.”

“I… don’t know if I’m ready for that.”

Hawkeye chuckled. “That’s okay. There’ll be time for meeting the in-laws later.”

There it was again. The proposal-not-a-proposal. The proposition-not-a-proposition.

“We’ll have a nice breakfast nook,” BJ said, “with a bench in the sun. I’ll sit and drink coffee and do the crossword puzzle until I forget that war is anything besides a three letter word for geopolitical conflict.”

“I’ll bring you scrambled eggs and answer the clues you can’t get.”

“Scrambled eggs?” BJ hadn’t really thought about who would do the cooking. Not that he’d given any thought to any of this before, but if he had, he definitely hadn’t gotten around to who would cook. Of course, BJ never cooked at home. Not because he wouldn’t have if asked, but it simply wasn’t his role. He didn’t even know if he was any good at it. Peg wasn’t even that good at it, and Hawkeye seemed to think he was. One day, a hundred years from now, maybe Hawkeye really would cook breakfast for him. BJ nearly melted into a puddle at the thought.

“Scrambled, poached, boiled, however you want them,” Hawkeye said. “Your wish is my command. I’m at your very whim.” _I’d cook you breakfast every day, baby. I’d put the radio on and sing while I did the dishes._

“Relax, Hawkeye, you got the job.”

“I’ll sit on the terrace and knit you scarves.”

“Will you?”

_I’d knit a scarf for the Lincoln Memorial if you asked me to._

_“_ Of course. What’s your color?”

“Anything but green. Red even.”

“A man after my own heart.”

“Or words to that effect.” 

Sometimes, a lot of the time, most of the time, words came out of Hawkeye’s mouthwithout him thinking about it at all. His wisecracks were not carefully crafted; they simply emanated out of him like so many sonic ripples in a mossy pond, and they dissipated until another stone was dropped in (a general called him a pistol, Charles taunted him in O.R., Margaret embarrassed herself trying to seduce some passing brass). So when he said things like _it’s us, your aunt and uncle_ or _someone’s gonna have to get me pregnant first_ or _a man after my own heart_ he had to stop himself afterwards and ask why the hell did he say that. Was it some kind of death wish, for the backfire from this scattergun approach to flirting, or did he actually think that one day it would just work?

“I won’t be able to sleep alone, you know,” Hawkeye said. “It’s chronic.”

“Let’s get a king sized bed, then,” BJ said. “I’ll make sure you have sweet dreams every night.”

“Don’t worry, Beej,” Hawkeye said, beginning to drift off. The little man who lived in his adrenal glands and beat them senseless with a golf club every half hour was finally clocking out. “You already do.” 

***

Funny place post op. You meet the most unforgettable characters in there. Today it was Private Mitchell (ruptured spleen, broken clavicle). He’d been busted up by a grenade (spleen) and was getting shit from his unit for being presumed homosexual (clavicle). He’d asked Hawkeye with almost painful trepidation if he’d ever had to deal with anything like that. Hawk told him no, he’d been lucky, and the look of relief that washed over Mitchell’s face nearly made the whole thing worth it. Hawkeye was telling BJ as much that evening in the Swamp over martinis and boot-cleaning.

“Why do you think he told you? Took that risk?” BJ was saying, “Aside from the obvious.”

“Thank you.”

“Well?”

“Well, I get the sense he thought we may have been something of an item,” Hawkeye said through a cheeky grin like he was trying to convey just how thoroughly laughable he found the suggestion.

“And why wouldn’t we be?” BJ said amiably.

 _What?_ “What?”

“Aside from the obvious.”

“The obvious being…?”

“The whole married thing?”

“Right…?”

“Well, how would he know I’m married?”

“BJ– wha– I mean– what are you asking me?” Hawkeye had dropped both his boot and the brush he was cleaning it with. He was aware of how completely flustered he sounded, but he was losing the will to live, let alone to seem suave and unaffected.

“I just mean why aren’t we? An item.” Now it was BJ’s turn to plaster a cheeky grin on his face.

“I mean– what? When was the first, last, or any other time that you asked me?” Hawkeye surprised even himself with the seriousness of his tone. BJ looked confused. Then some sort of realization seemed to finally dawn on him.

“Wait. Hawkeye, do you… like me?” BJ said. Hawkeye played dumb.

“Do I…? Yeah, Beej, of course I like you.”

“No.” BJ refused to play anymore. “Do you _like_ like me?”

“No, because I’m not twelve.”

“Hawkeye.”

“What do you want me to say to you, huh?” Hawkeye stood up so he was standing over BJ, who still had one scuffed black boot in his hand. His tone was mocking. He hated himself for it, but he could feel himself talking to BJ the way he used to talk to Frank. “That I’ve been in love with you since the moment I saw you? That I want you to kiss me tenderly, lovingly, like I was your wife? That I want you to fuck me?” That got BJ’s attention.

“What?”

“What.” Hawkeye sat back down on his cot and faced BJ with his elbows resting on his thighs. “Why would you ask me that? Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“Hawk, I didn’t–”

“What about what I want to hear, huh? I don’t– I’m not–” Hawkeye struggled to form sentences. He didn’t know what to say when he was so overwhelmed by feeling like he couldn’t catch a fucking break without sounding selfish.

“Hey, I didn’t mean to…” BJ didn’t finish saying what he didn’t mean to do, but he did kneel in front of Hawkeye’s cot and take both of his arms in his hands. Hawkeye could feel how warm they were even through the thick fabric of his fatigues.

“I don’t know what the hell I’m doing here, Beej,” Hawkeye said, feeling his voice crack and not caring at all. “I don’t know why I let it chip me away. There’s not gonna be any of me left when they let me go home, ‘cause I’m giving it all to this place.”

“Hey,” BJ said firmly, though his voice still managed to be as warm as his hands. “That’s not gonna happen. You–” BJ looked around the tent fishing for words. “You’re indestructible, Hawkeye.”

Hawkeye barked a laugh. “Indestructible! Beej, don’t you listen when I talk? They shipped me over here marked _Fragile: Handle With Care_.”

“No,” BJ said, his voice wavering, too. “You’re strong, Hawkeye. You make us all strong.”

That made Hawkeye start crying in earnest. The only thing grounding him was the feeling of BJ’s grip on his triceps. At least it didn’t feel like he was going to let up.

“I can’t do it anymore, Beej! I’ve been doing it forever already. I don’t know why I have to give so much to this goddamn place just so that maybe no one else has to suffer, and God, I know it doesn’t even work like that, but I’m fucking losing myself here, and I get so little in return.” He laughed bitterly at his own remark. “Fuck, if that doesn’t sound like something Margaret or God forbid Frank would’ve said.”

BJ laughed a little, too, and released his right hand to wipe a tear from Hawkeye’s cheek.

“You’re so good, Hawkeye. I don’t know how they make someone like you.”

“Fuck off,” Hawkeye said, even though that made him smile. “I’m from the L. L. Bean catalog.”

“I’ll order one for Peg.”

“I’m in with the fishing equipment.”

“Of course. Hawk, line, and sinker.”

Hawkeye smiled despite himself and swatted at BJ’s arm to scold him for his awful joke.

“God, Beej. I try to be good. I hope I’m good.” And he’d made himself cry again. “And having you is good. Having you is so good and it’s more than I ever deserved but sometimes–” his breathing hitched and he stood up suddenly, and paced between his bed and Charles’.

“Hawk–”

“Sometimes it feels so fucking unfair that everybody else gets to keep the love of their life but mine is already married, you know?”

He couldn’t look at BJ. He couldn’t even think about the fact that he was in the room. The silent room. BJ wasn’t speaking. Hawkeye looked away and out the screen window across the camp.

“The love of your life?” BJ said quietly.

“Did I say that?”

“Am I the love of your life or do you want me to fuck you?”

That made Hawkeye look back, and see that BJ was smiling. His stupid, cheesy, perfect, beautiful smile, like Hawkeye hadn’t just bared his soul to him. Though, he supposed, he’d bared his soul plenty of times before and that had never changed anything.

“I wasn’t aware those were mutually exclusive.”

BJ sighed. He raised his eyebrows in a concerned expression that urged Hawkeye to take a load off and sit back down, which he did, cross-legged on his cot to face BJ still kneeling on the floor.

“Are we really having this conversation?” BJ said.

“What conversation would that be?”

“You’re impossible, Hawkeye.”

 _That’s why you love me_. _It must be._

“So I’ve been told.”

“Hawkeye.”

“What, what?”

“Just be straight with me for fifteen seconds.”

“Oh?”

“Hawk!”

“I–” _Put a pin in it, Hawk. If he loved you he would’ve said by now._ “Heat of the moment, Beej. You know I don’t know what I’m saying half the time.”

“Right,” BJ said, playing at believing him even if he didn’t.

“If we keep having lovers’ quarrels this loud I’ll be playing counselor to all the homosexuals in Korea.”

“Impossible,” BJ said, his prodigal grin returning. “Everybody knows they’re not allowed in the army."

***

The movie: _Shall We Dance._ The stars: Fred and Ginger. The song when the sound cut out: “I’ve Got Beginner’s Luck.” Of course Hawkeye and BJ took it upon themselves to sub it in.Hawkeye started the verse, putting on his near perfect imitation of that Old Hollywood Mid-Atlantic twang that he had, and taking BJ’s hand to lead him to the front of the mess tent.

“ _At any gambling casino from Monte Carlo to Reno, they tell you that a beginner comes out a winner._ ”

“Oh, yeah?”

Hawkeye nodded, and gave BJ a little twirl. “ _Beginner fishing for a flounder will catch a seventeen pounder; that’s what I’ve always heard and always thought absurd, but now I believe every word!”_

Hawkeye really was a mad fool. A mad, spectacular, magnificent, beautiful, ( _beautiful?_ ) incredible fool. BJ took his cue and started singing the chorus, wary of his pitch but confident enough in the lyrics.

“ _I’ve got beginner’s luck! The first time I’m in love, I’m in love with you. Gosh, I’m lucky!”_ He led Hawkeye in a mild swing while their audience whooped and threw popcorn.

“ _I’ve got beginner’s luck!_ ” BJ went on, “ _There never was such a smile or such eyes of blue_ …” he trailed off, looking into Hawkeye’s as he batted his eyelashes. His smile was crooked but his teeth were perfect and straight, and as BJ felt blood rushing to his ears he ardently wished they weren’t having this moment in front of a tent full of people. Hawkeye looked confused when BJ stopped singing and prompted him.

“ _This thing we’ve begun is much more than a pastime…?_ ”

“Right. _For this time is the one where the first time is the last time_ ,” he sang quieter.

There was a loud click and the sound came back. They’d been a few seconds fast and heard the last line again in Fred’s voice instead of BJ’s. The room cheered and Hawkeye returned them to their seats looking subdued.

Being around Hawkeye made BJ second-guess if he knew what being in love felt like. He was a married man, a surgeon in the United States Army, and sitting next to Hawkeye he felt like a goddamn teenager at the flicks. His heart pounded when their thighs touched. He watched Hawkeye when he wasn’t looking, tracing the slouch of his shoulders, the contour of his nose. He was fascinated by his profile in a way he wasn’t really supposed to be.

It wasn’t that he didn’t love Peg. He certainly loved her; he felt like he needed her more than air itself and every second he spent away from her and Erin and the safety and stability of Mill Valley was like being sucked into the vacuum of space. The problem was that Hawkeye was like oxygen. He made BJ feel alive in a way no one ever had before (not even Peg). He didn’t know what it meant. He just knew the ache he felt being away from home was different from the stabbing pain he felt whenever Hawkeye wasn’t at his side, even though Peg was twelve thousand miles away and Hawkeye had barely been more than twenty feet from him in any direction since they’d met. And so, compelled by that unknown force, BJ followed Hawkeye to his Post-Op shift when the movie was over.

“I miss Ginger,” Hawkeye lamented after he’d finished his preliminary rounds. He was lounging on a free bed in the corner while BJ sat on the desk with his feet up on a crate, since Post-Op was only half-full. Or half-empty as the case may be. BJ wasn’t sure which perspective would make him an optimist.

“Already?” BJ said. “I’m sure you’ll have a chance to see her again. That’s the first new movie we’ve gotten in months.”

“Hm?” Hawkeye looked up. “Not Rogers, Bayliss. She was a nurse here a while ago, got rotated home around the same time as Trap.” _Naturally_.

“Naturally.”

“Good kid. Took a lot of shit from Frank that she didn’t deserve. Funny,” Hawkeye said. "Just caught myself thinking of ‘the first year of the war’ as simpler times.”

“Funny.”

Hawkeye tapped his clipboard with the end of his pencil and gave BJ an appraising look. Sometimes BJ thought he caught Hawkeye looking at his lips when he talked, or otherwise watching the blue of his irises while seemingly maintaining eye contact, but he told himself he must be imagining things.

“Hey, uh, Beej, are you okay?” Hawkeye said after another minute.

“Huh?”

“You seemed kind of… off, at the movie. I just– I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable or anything, I just thought we were having a little fun and I–“

“No, Hawk, you didn’t do anything wrong. I, uh, it’s nothing.”

“Uh-huh.”

_I’m worried I’ve fallen out of love with my wife, despite the fact that I cling to the idea of her like a goddamn lifeline. I don’t know what I’d do with myself if I did anything to upset the perfect (normal) life waiting for me back home. Oh, and it’s intoxicating the way your hair shines silver in the moonlight._

“Just missing simpler times.”

Hawkeye looked convinced. “I’ll buy that.” He checked the clock. “Ten-fifteen. I gotta check Soderbergh’s pressure.”

Hawkeye only walked to the other end of the room and it still felt too far. He’d clapped BJ on the shoulder as he passed him as if he’d be at all farther away than earshot. BJ could still feel the placed he’d touched him, and watched Hawkeye’s hands as he placed the cuff around Corporal Soderbergh’s arm and pumped.

After he marked down the new numbers he came straight back, and on his way he took his stethoscope off from around his neck, and draped it over BJ’s when he reached him. He stood there for a long moment, engulfing BJ in the stethoscope like it was a proxy for his own arms, and looked at him like they were the only two people on the planet. And before BJ knew it, the moment was over. Hawkeye’s hands dropped down to his sides, though the stethoscope remained, branding an invisible guilty burn along the back of his neck. _Who are you, who are you, who are you_? BJ wanted to spend his whole life getting to know Hawkeye Pierce. And he wanted to return to a time and place where he’d never met him, never would. So it goes. 

***

Hawkeye knocked on the door of Margaret’s tent.

“What do you want?” she said suspiciously when she saw him on her threshold.

“What does anybody want?” he riffed. “Love, respect, a two-up-two-down fixer upper just off the service road.”

“Pierce.”

“I just gotta get out of the Swamp for a while.” He held up a ball of yarn with one hand and a half finished scarf in the other. “I brought some arts and crafts, figured we could make a day of it.”

Margaret’s expression softened, and she sighed. “All right, Captain, come in. I’m still working on a project of my own.”

“Hoped so,” Hawkeye said as Margaret set out a chair for him by the bed. She sat with her back against what would have been the headboard and they both put their feet up across the other end.

“Yes,” she said, unable to contain a smile. From under the bed she pulled out a pink creation that at one point Hawkeye recalled having been a potholder and now more resembled a bathmat in size and shape. They knitted together in peaceful silence to the metronome of occasional clacking needles. He looked back over at Margaret’s progress.

“That must be for one hell of a wok.”

“I told you before, it’s going to be a sweater now! For a pilot I’ve got a date with in a fortnight.”

“Oh, yeah?” Hawkeye waggled his eyebrows. Maybe Margaret wouldn’t typically have humored him but she seemed eager to show off.

“Yes. Oh, Hawkeye, he’s got these bright blue eyes.” _BJ’s are brighter_. “He’s six-foot-three.” _BJ’s taller_. “Not to mention his… feet,” Margaret said with a subtle raise of an eyebrow. _Uh-huh._

“Then don’t mention it.”

“And let’s not forget the shoulders. And those arms! He could lift you with one hand, string bean.”

“Stop it, Margaret, you’re getting me excited.”

“I’ll bet. So?”

“So?”

“So, gonna tell me about the little lady that’s for?” Margaret said, indicating the red scarf pooling in Hawkeye’s lap.

“Who says it’s for a little lady? Maybe I’m trying to get in on some of this pilot action. I mean, hubba hubba.”

“Don’t be obscene.”

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry. Really I’m very happy for you and your boyfriend’s huge di–”

“Pierce!”

“Sorry!” He held his hands up in mock apology. Margaret looked scandalized but her mouth was curling up like she was trying not to laugh.

“All right, don’t tell me about her. How about you tell me why you had to get out of the Swamp? Not trouble in paradise, I hope.”

A beat passed. It was nice that he and Margaret were friends now, and it was stupid that that meant he was supposed to _talk to her_ or whatever.

“It’s not for anybody. Knitting just gives me something to do.” Every task was Sisyphean if you never finished it.

Another silent minute.

“Okay.” Margaret returned to her sweater and Hawkeye to his scarf. He noticed his leg starting to shake and stilled it, but not before it had distracted Margaret.

“Captain Pierce.”

“Aye-aye.”

“Hawkeye.”

He paused and looked up. “Margaret.”

“You really like him, don’t you?”

Increased heart rate, sweaty palms. Hawkeye wracked his brain for the appropriate response and avoided it like the plague.

“You’ll have to be more specific, Margaret, I really like a lot of people. Radar, Father Mulcahy, BJ–”

“Uh-huh.”

“Uh-huh what.”

“Something’s obviously going on between you and BJ.”

“If only.”

Margaret rolled her eyes. “The camp can’t take it when you two fight. Don’t you know there’s already a war on?”

“Oh, a war! I was wondering what we were doing here.”

“Can’t you be serious for five minutes?”

“Nope. BJ’s holding a parade in my honor when I finally break the four-minute-serious.”

Margaret huffed. “I’m not good at this, you know. Usually it’s you forcing me to talk about my feelings, telling me I’ll feel better if I don’t keep it all bottled up. How about you take some of your own advice for a change?”

Hawkeye looked up and met her steely gaze. He remembered what he’d told the Colonel, that tough friends last longer, and forced himself to believe it.

“Maybe you’re right,” he said. Margaret looked surprised that he’d given in so easily. But he didn’t appreciate being called a hypocrite. He appreciated it even less that she was right. “He’s hung up on a letter from home. I say what I can to try and make him feel better but you know how he gets. Nothing works, especially coming from me. He’ll cool off if I leave him alone for a while so…”

“Especially from you, why especially from you?”

“You know, I try and tell him I know how he feels but he tells me I don’t, ‘cause I haven’t got a family. I mean, a wife and kids type family, you know. And he’s right, basically.”

“Hawkeye, that doesn’t mean he’s more miserable than you.” Margaret flashed a grimace. “Nobody’s more miserable than you.”

Hawkeye smiled cheekily. “Flatterer.”

Margaret tsk-ed and placed her needles down. “That man can get on my nerves sometimes, you know? He really can.”

“Margaret–”

“He doesn’t know how good he has it! A loving wife waiting for him at home, a beautiful daughter, the whole package!”

“Every day he thinks they need him less and less,” Hawkeye said. He didn’t know why he felt the need to defend BJ and yet he found the words coming out of his mouth. “Whenever he gets a letter where they’re basically doing fine, where Peg is taking care of everything on her own, he thinks it means there isn’t gonna be a place for him when he gets there. I can’t blame him for that. We’re all scared we won’t have anything to go back to.”

Margaret wasn’t convinced. “Who cares if she needs him? We need him, here! For crying out loud, you need him.” She went on quietly, “I’ve never seen anyone need anyone more than you need him. Sometimes I think that won’t even end when we’re home.”

Hawkeye wanted to find the burrow Margaret had somehow dug in his brain and shoo her out of there.

“Why are you telling me this?” he asked.

“I guess I’m worried about you.”

“Oh,” he said. “That’s okay. Thanks, though, really.”

“I don’t know, I don’t think I can help it. You became my friend when I wasn’t looking.”

“Oh,” Hawkeye said again. “Right.”

“Stand up,” Margaret said.

“What?”

“I need to check how the sweater’s coming.”

“Oh.” Hawkeye stood. Margaret draped the front piece over him, and the sleeves over his arms. His skin tingled where her fingers had been, like they held a static charged. There was something in the air, like the moment could go in any number of directions. Hawkeye watched carefully for changes in Margaret’s expression.

Then, she put her arms around his waist, and hugged him, and it was electric, even more than if she’d kissed him. He was surprised and for too long didn’t know what to do with his hands, which he eventually rested gingerly on Margaret’s back. She hugged him tighter and he gave her a little squeeze back, and when she still didn’t let up he rested his chin on her head while she leaned into his chest.

“He loves you, you know,” Margaret said. Hawkeye wondered if she could hear his pulse spike. “We all do.” _Oh._

“I–” he was maybe about to make a wisecrack but he stopped himself. “Thank you, Margaret. That’s very kind of you.”

She gave him one last squeeze before she let go and sat back down. He picked his knitting back up feeling very warm and a little confused. Margaret nudged his feet with hers.

“You really ought to be making that scarf for BJ,” she said.

“I think I’d sit and knit for him every day if I could,” Hawkeye said before he could put a stopper in his stupid mouth. He did not know why he said that. He watched Margaret’s brow furrow momentarily but then her expression relaxed like she was just making a simple adjustment in some calculations.

“I think that’s a nice thought, Captain,” she said. “I used to think it made me happy, imagining being somebody’s homemaker. I think maybe I was kidding myself for a long time.”

Sometimes he felt bad for Margaret. She spent so long trying to convince herself she was happy with her life she never really sat down and thought about what she wanted. Sometimes she contorted herself into shapes for other people’s benefit in a way that brought Hawkeye almost physical pain to think about.

“I’ve never been able to make myself happy imagining a life like that, some woman doting on me, keeping my house. It would almost be creepy!”

Margaret laughed. “Creepy?”

“I don’t know, feeling like such a passive component in your own home. I don’t want to be waited on, all I wanna do is create. Cooking, knitting, bringing joy wherever I can. That’s what life is all about, you know?”

“I don’t think that’s how most people see it,” Margaret said. Hawkeye shrugged.

“It’s how I see it.”

Margaret smiled. “You’re kind of a sap, huh? I mean, I knew you were _sensitive_ to a degree anyway because I’ve seen the way those boys in O.R. affect you and how you’re obviously not cut out for the service–”

“Thank you.”

“But… Hawkeye, you’re kind of a sissy.”

That startled him into hysterical laughter, which Margaret joined in with until there were tears in her eyes.

“Margaret, you’re in the _army_. I don’t think either of us is cut out for what the world wanted for us,” Hawkeye said.

“Pierce,” Margaret said as she steadied her breathing and dried her eyes. “Don’t worry. I’m sure you and BJ will be very happy when you go home.”

“Yeah, well,” Hawkeye said. “BJ will, and that’s what matters.”

Margaret opened her mouth like she might be about to correct him, but she didn’t. Some issues just couldn’t be solved in one day. 

***

They were going home. Tomorrow. They were actually going home. After dinner BJ walked Hawkeye back to the Swamp with his arm around him, since he looked like he might simply float away if nothing was grounding him. Hawkeye stood listlessly in their tent, staring with glassy eyes in the direction of the still.

“Hey, Hawk, come with me. I know a little corner of Korea nobody’s using,” BJ said after he’d gotten Hawkeye’s attention with a brush on the arm. BJ threw his blanket on the floor and lifted his mattress, and gestured for Hawkeye to do the same. He led him to a clearing where they could see constellations he recognized but didn’t know by name, and laid the thin mattresses side by side in the summer night.

They lay there like they were the only two people in the world, each on their back staring up at the stars. BJ reached over and took Hawkeye’s hand in his, interlocking their fingers. He brushed Hawkeye’s knuckles once with his thumbs, then let their hands be still between them.

“Do you remember when we talked about–” Hawkeye started, then presumably stopped himself from saying _our_ , “the office? Painting everything red?”

“Yeah,” BJ answered without looking over at him.

“What was that?” Hawkeye said. He’d never sounded so small. Even when he was half out of his mind at Sidney’s hospital or mumbling incoherently in the jeep wreck in the O Club he hadn’t sounded like that. Even after all this time, BJ was still finding new sides to Hawkeye to look at, and God, he never wanted that to stop.

“Something to get me through the day, I guess,” BJ said.

“You?”

“Yeah?”

BJ finally turned his head to look at Hawkeye, whose brow had furrowed. He must have heard him shift because he looked over, too, then rolled on to his side. BJ did the same so they were facing each other, even though it meant unclasping their hands.

“What about how it made me feel?” Hawkeye said.

“What do you mean?” BJ scanned Hawkeye’s face, taking in every gray hair, every speck of unshaven stubble. He watched his eyes as he thought, his lips as he tried to form words. Hawkeye was so fucked up, for so many reasons, and he was the most wonderful, brilliant, perfect person BJ had ever known. He saw Hawkeye swallow, then look up to meet his gaze.

“Remember when I said you were the love of my life?” Hawkeye said.

“I remember when you said you didn’t mean it.”

“Yeah. Well, I did.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Oh.”

“Oh.”

Hawkeye let out a long exhale. BJ felt his breath on his chin. 

“If you felt like that the whole time how come you never did anything about it?” BJ asked quietly. Hawkeye rolled his eyes and laughed.

“Never did anything about it? BJ, I dropped hints left, right, and center every day! And that was me holding back! I stopped myself from ever doing anything because you are so goddamn married. You said ‘why aren’t we’ like the only reason we weren’t isn’t ‘because you never asked.’ My God, Beej, didn’t you know it was on you to say something?”

“But how could I? You’re the one who was– who’s– who–”

“Exactly, BJ! You– you live the straightest life on earth. Come on, I would’ve been a maniac to, I don’t know, genuinely make a pass at you.”

“Well, some would definitely say–”

“I know what some would definitely say. But, Beej, come on. It’s not like I didn’t flirt with you constantly.” As if to make a point, Hawkeye lifted one hand and ran it along BJ’s hair, smoothing it down where the wind had ruffled it.

“Everybody knows you flirt with everybody,” BJ said, his voice barely making it above a whisper.

“When was the first, last, or any other time you asked me to take it seriously?”

BJ sighed. Yes, maybe he’d been stupid, but he didn’t think it was his fault. This stupid war, you know? Hawkeye knew, and that’s what mattered.

“Everybody thought you were a maniac,” BJ said.

“I may be a maniac but I’m not crazy,” Hawkeye said. “Asshole.” He was smiling wider than BJ had seen in months.

“Hey, uh,” BJ said, “I know I’m late to the game but I think I’m in love with you.”

Hawkeye’s smile faded from goofily grinning to peacefully contented, but thank the lord he was still smiling.

“Does that change anything? About tomorrow?”

“I don’t know,” BJ said honestly. “I was always gonna promise I’d see you again, back home, and I’m still going to.” Hawkeye was shaking his head almost imperceptibly. “We’ll figure it out, Hawk, we will. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I didn’t even– I don’t know. Would it have changed anything?”

“I don’t know.”

BJ cupped the side of Hawkeye’s face in his hand. “Potter said you shouldn’t fall in love during a war.”

“You said why shouldn’t I. Did you already know I was in love with you?”

It was jarring to hear Hawkeye speaking so directly. And yet, it made sense. He really seemed to believe this was the last chance they’d ever have to talk to each other.

“Yes,” BJ answered, “and no. In some ways I always knew and in some ways I never knew. Even after you told me, I didn’t know. No, I never knew with you.”

“Fuck, BJ,” Hawkeye said on a release of breath. “I love you.”

“Yeah, I know.” BJ laughed. “I love you, too.”

Hawkeye looked at him like he was waiting to see what he’d do next, if he’d kiss him, or hold him, or get up and walk away, like even when he could have he still was never going to make the first move. But BJ didn’t do anything either. They’d both gotten too good at the waiting game to take their turn even when they could.

“Then why’d you leave?” Hawkeye said, when he was sure the moment wasn’t going anywhere else.

“Why’d I leave,” BJ repeated as if to himself, mulling over the question since he didn’t quite know the answer either. “Because I had to, Hawk. They told me I could go home, so I was going. It was the only thing to do. Who would I have been if I’d stayed?” 

“I hate that you’re right. And I hate that I hate it.”

“Don’t hate anything, Hawkeye, you stink at it. Love. Just love.” And finally, finally BJ leaned in and kissed him.

“What was that all about?” Hawkeye said breathlessly after they pulled apart.

“Tonight I’m gonna act like I have forever with you. Let’s play that game now, okay?”

“Yeah, Beej,” Hawkeye said, only a hint of reluctance in his voice. “Okay.”

“Okay,” BJ said, and smoothed his hair, and lay back on his mattress counting stars again. “What do we want in the way of wall art?”

Hawkeye laughed. “This again?”

“Hey, you said–”

“No, no, it’s fine, I’m playing. I’m partial to a bit of Schiele, maybe a Klimt.”

“Nice, that’s classy, but are we sure we don’t want something more modern? Abstract?”

“What, you mean one of those things that’s just lines on a canvas? No story, no narrative? No, I don’t want any bullshit like that on our walls, what do you think this is?”

“Hey, I’m just saying, it’s good art if it makes you feel something. Even if it’s anger at the fact that it’s bullshit.”

“Shut up, what the hell is wrong with you? If you keep talking like that I’m leaving,” Hawkeye said through his cackling laugh, and gave BJ a playful shove.

“Fine, fine, no bullshit art.”

“Just the good stuff.”

“And maybe a Potter original.”

Hawkeye laughed again. “Harsh, but fair.”

“And I’ll drive us in to work every morning,” BJ said, extending his arm and inviting Hawkeye to lay his head on his shoulder.

“I’ll cook us dinner every night,” he said as he took the invitation and draped his other arm across BJ’s waist.

“I’ll take a woodworking class once a month. I’ve always wanted to be able to build my own furniture.”

“I’d swoon if I wasn’t already lying down.”

“Steady, Hawk.”

“Steady yourself.”

“Hey, Hawk?”

“Mm-hm?” Hawkeye murmured into his chest.

“I’ll see you back in the states. I promise,” BJ said, but he wasn’t sure if Hawkeye heard. He seemed to have fallen asleep in his embrace.

BJ lay there and listen to Hawkeye breathing. He’d never seen him look so peaceful, but he figured that came with the territory. This was the first day he’d ever known him when there wasn’t a war on. He tried to sleep, but he couldn’t, since he worried that if he did he wouldn’t wake up until dawn, and then it would be too late. Instead, he carefully slid his arm out from beneath Hawkeye, and lifted him off their mattresses, which he left for the minute. He carried Hawkeye bridal style across the compound and back to the Swamp, moving slowly and carefully so as not to wake him. That and though he wasn’t particularly heavy, there was a lot of him.

He carried him over the threshold of their tent and laid him gently in the extra bunk, draping a blanket over him before turning to leave again. It was summer, but the nights could still get chilly, and he’d never forgive himself if Hawkeye woke up with a cold. Charles was who-knows-where, so BJ stood without apprehension in the middle of the tent and watched Hawkeye sleep for a few more minutes. He hoped to God he was having peaceful dreams, but he also knew it might be a long time before those returned.

“Hi, honey,” he said to the silent tent. “We’re going home.”

**Author's Note:**

> honestly don’t know if the tzitzit thing is true or not, but it is what my parents told me when I was a kid. 88.3 is a real new york local jazz station, although I definitely don’t think it existed in the 1950s lmao
> 
> I realize this is the second thing I’ve written in as many weeks that basically ends this way, but GFA is legitimately one of the best tv series finales of all time, like it really is one of maybe five I could name that are actually satisfying, and it’s genuinely rewarding to write within it since there’s literally nothing about it that I want to retcon. So it goes
> 
> sigh. This show makes me crazy! 
> 
> I do my mashposting @ crickelwood on Tumblr if you want to say hi :)


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